But Davin had neither the time nor the luxury to dawdle. Another cramp twisted his stomach, a brutal reminder of his absolute emergency.
His eyes fell upon a fruit stall. Driven by his body's desperation, he approached, swaying.
"Please..." he murmured, hand outstretched.
"Get lost, vermin!" spat the merchant, revealing a heavy club hidden beneath the counter.
Davin backed away, his self-preservation instinct taking over. His pride meant nothing. He walked away, looking for another opportunity, but every shopfront offered him the same contempt and the same threats.
The truth set in, cold and implacable: They aren't just chasing me away because I'm a beggar. They recognize me. The former owner of this body must have had a heavy track record of theft and petty crime. To ask was to die. He had to take.
He slipped into the shadows of an adjacent alley, crouched behind empty crates, and observed. A tired merchant was finishing sorting out his unsold goods: rustic bread, misshapen fruits, drinks in leather flasks. Davin sensed the opportunity. He waited a long time, motionless.
The merchant yawned, stretched, and began loading his merchandise onto a handcart. The end of the day was fast approaching. The man was making short trips back and forth, regularly turning his back on his stall. Davin tensed his muscles and held his breath. The merchant turned around again.
This was the moment.
He sprang from his hiding place, ignoring the searing pain in his atrophied muscles. His hands, guided by starvation and the muscle memory of this thief's body, moved with desperate speed. Two loaves of bread, a few fruits, a flask: everything disappeared into his arms before the man even realized what was happening.
"Hey! Thief!" he yelled.
But Davin was already running. He had melted into the shadows of the alleyway before the merchant could even make a move.
In a damp, fetid dead-end, he collapsed with his loot. No time to savor it. Leaning against the cold stone, he inhaled his provisions. No grace, no humanity. Every bite burned him, every swallow irritated his raw throat, but he didn't slow down. He swallowed the dry bread and the fruit until his lips tore, then ripped the stopper off the flask with his teeth to force the liquid down.
When he was finished, a long sigh of relief escaped his lips. The stinging pain had subsided, replaced by a saving heaviness in his belly. Finally, he could think straight.
With the fog of hunger dissipated, his analyst's mind retook the helm: cold, methodical. He assessed his condition. Nothing broken, a few scrapes and some grime, but a functional body now. The world around him—armor, swords, dirt streets—fit into a medieval-type reality that he could now observe with clarity.
The most surprising thing remained the local language. Every insult, every shout from the merchants... He understood everything perfectly, without the slightest effort. The language barrier didn't exist. It was an invaluable asset granted by the residual memory of this body.
The main problem remained: money. The villagers traded with tarnished copper coins. Stealing food from stalls would only last so long: eventually, he'd be lynched, or worse. He had to understand the rules of this world.
"AI, open."
[BEEP. System Message / Analysis in progress...]
HOST STATUS:
Name: Davin (Unknown Vessel)
Biological Age: 19 years
Strength: 0.8 (Standard Average: 1.0)
Agility: 0.8
Vitality: 0.9
Energy (Unknown): 1.2
[Alert / Recommendation: Nutritional intake assimilated. Critical status lifted. Persistent muscular atrophy.]
He inspected the data. As expected, his health had improved significantly following the meal, although he remained below the 1.0 standard mark. He noticed, however, that the gauge for the unknown energy had remained perfectly static.
"AI, what is this unknown energy?"
[BEEP][ System Message / Analysis in progress...]
> RESPONSE: [Alert: Foreign energy source detected in the host's bloodstream. Exact nature: Uncatalogued in the original database.]
Hm, can you inspect it thoroughly and give me more details? He wondered if it was a force native to this body, or a residue caused by his forced transmigration via the apple.
The interface blinked silently for about ten minutes before delivering its verdict.
[BEEP. System Message / Analysis in progress...]
> RESPONSE: [Alert: Analysis failed. Insufficient referential data regarding this environment.]
You took all that time just to tell me you didn't know? Davin sighed, annoyed, and closed the interface with a thought.
Night had already fallen. Unable to find sleep in this filthy alley, he spent the next few hours planning his schedule for the following day. His immediate goal was to accumulate as much information as possible about the monetary system and power hierarchies. He sensed that this so-called "unknown energy" was linked to the magic of this world. Until he identified it, questioning the AI would be a waste of time.
The night seemed endless, but the first rays of daylight finally pierced the darkness. He got up, his muscles stiff but responsive. He cast a calculating gaze over the quiet street, ready to exploit the slightest loophole to elevate himself.
Davin dragged himself out of the alley, his mind clear despite the grime serving as his second skin. He absolutely had to earn some money. Not to get rich, but to survive: to find a safe shelter, something to wash with, and above all, to stop looking like an easy target.
He began to wander through the village's arteries. Passersby parted ways as he walked, staring at him with repulsion. His foul stench acted as a natural shield. Very soon, a large building made of massive stone and wood caught his eye. Heavily armed men and women, or those dressed in long robes weathered by travel, were constantly walking in and out.
A guild? The ultimate cliché. It's the perfect place to gather data, he deduced, picking up his pace.
He pushed open the heavy double doors. The great hall blended the austerity of stone with the warmth of dark wood. A wide staircase led to a gallery where a few figures observed the crowd below, while the pale light from the windows fought against the hot smoke of oil lamps. On the ground floor, heavy wooden tables and worn benches accommodated travelers, soldiers, and mercenaries in a raucous, masculine hubbub. At the back, behind a large counter, receptionists tirelessly jotted down requests pinned to a massive wooden board.
The smell of strong alcohol, sweat, and leather filled Davin's nostrils. But as he took his first steps inside, the nearest conversations died instantly. Heavy stares, laden with disgust, converged on his clothing.
Ignoring the ambient hostility and the pressure from these warriors, he walked straight up to the reception desk.
"I'm looking for a way to earn some coins," he dropped in a raspy voice, without the slightest polite phrasing.
The young woman behind the counter jumped back, covering her nose with the sleeve of her tunic. Her features twisted in revulsion.
"By the Gods, you reek of carrion! We don't hire beggars here. And certainly not petty thieves of your sort. Get out!"
Again, the filthy reputation of this body, Davin thought, clenching his jaw. But he held her gaze.
"The bounties on the board. How do they work?" he insisted, his face like marble.
The receptionist sighed, realizing that answering quickly was the only way to make this olfactory nuisance vanish from her counter.
"Low-level targets, like goblins or wolves, yield one silver coin per head. Escort missions pay ten silver coins, but you must be at least an Initial Adept. Which is clearly not your case. I don't sense a single ounce of mana in you, you pathetic vagrant."
Davin absorbed the information, his brain immediately zeroing in on the key variables.
"What's an Adept? What is mana? And explain your currency to me."
The woman rolled her eyes, genuinely exasperated.
"Where the hell do you come from?! An Adept is a Rank 0 fighter, warrior or mage. The Initial stage is the very first step of cultivation. Not everyone has the privilege of awakening their mana gates... As for the currency, any moron knows: one hundred copper coins make a silver coin. One hundred silver coins make a gold coin. Now get the hell out before I call the guard!"
"I'll take a goblin mission."
The woman paused, taken aback by his suicidal confidence.
"Three miles north of the village lies the Whispering Falls Forest. According to some merchants, goblins have been spotted there. But... you don't even have a weapon?"
"What do you care?"
He turned on his heel and walked out of the building, leaving her standing there. The young woman gritted her teeth, indignant, but quickly calmed down: the stinking man was finally leaving the premises, and if he really was going to hunt goblins barehanded, the problem would resolve itself.
Outside, the day had fully begun. Looking up at the sky, Davin noticed a detail that had escaped him the day before in his haze of pain.
Two suns were shining over the village.
Two suns. A rank-based magic system. If Earthlings saw this, they'd kill each other to move here. Seeing these two celestial bodies didn't shock him overly much. His very existence, trapped in the body of a starving kid after biting into a divine apple, already defied all logic.
He started walking toward the village entrance. The two guards blocking the gates stepped aside with the same disgusted expression as the day before, not even bothering to try searching him.
Once outside the perimeter, it took him less than forty minutes to pass by the miserable makeshift camp where he had first appeared. He spotted from afar the silhouettes of the beggars who had beaten him up.
Not now, he reminded himself.
He looked away and pushed forward, at a steady pace, toward the Whispering Falls Forest.